BLINK

INT. BRIGHT ROOM - NIGHT

The room is bright and cold and hard, functional and comfortless. Seemingly random
objects litter the floor, discarded.

Empty caffeine pill holders are everywhere, a silver detritus made incandescent by the
gleaming halogens and the buzzing fluorescents.

A TV blares obnoxious gameshows, while discordant music careens from the stark bare
walls and assaults the listener.

A car battery trails wires, which lead through the chaos to a metal chair leg. Toothed
calipers grip the cold hard metal in serrated teeth.

In the chair sits HARRY, dressed in shorts and a vest. He is 27 but prematurely aged,
shivering uncontrollably. Cuts decorate his exposed legs and arms, some almost surgical,
others ragged and still bleeding.

Dark circles ring his eyes which concentrate on the gaudy colours of the TV screen with
fierce intensity.

CUT TO:

A FLASH:

TITLE

CUT TO:

INT. OFFICE - DAY

CLOSE ON:

Harry's eyes as he squints. His eyes are clearer and he looks years younger.

REVERSE ANGLE ON:

The computer screen, Harry's most deadly nemesis. It lists a series of arcane tasks in a
ludicrously small font. Exasperated he searches for something to distract him from the
whims of the computer.

Harry performs microscopic feng-shui on his desk, attempting to align all the rooms
energy in one place and short circuit the PC.

He drains the dregs of near solid coffee in a polystyrene cup and reverse engineers it into
caustic confetti.

Leaning back he stares at the ceiling

POV:

The flimsy patchwork tiles and struts of the roof. Odd stains and gaps in the framework
make it seem like the surface of an alien planet, full of mystery and possibility. The dark,
interstitial space of duct-work and cabling draws Harry's gaze and the rest of the world
almost ceases to exist.

CUT TO:

WIDE SHOT:

Harry leaning far back in his chair.

Suddenly a trilling phone breaks Harry's reverie and he starts, almost overturning the
chair.

Harry self consciously rights himself and looks around before, reluctantly, glancing at the
computer screen.

The message is still there.

Harry sighs and leans forward. He closes his eyes and works his fingers in and around his
eye-sockets, trying to dislodge the dull headache which heralds a full blown migraine
invasion in the near future.

A FLASH:

A white light overlays Harry's sight for a moment, vague shapes move within it like
vision slowly returning after being dazzled.

Harry cautiously opens his eyes to the bustle of the office. PAUL JAMES, the sender of
the evil e-mail message, parades by. He is overweight and filled with righteous self
importance, the only kind available to people who are universally hated. He smiles at
Harry and passes on.
Harry gives a token smile/grimace and makes a decision.

He needs coffee.

And he needs Sally's special bag.

CUT TO:

INT. CAFETERIA- DAY

Dull, utilitarian and grey. A facsimile of cafeterias all over the world.

SALLY DANDRIDGE sits at the most secluded table in the room, with her back to all
creation, eating a pot of diet yogurt with the kind of obsessiveness that comes from
seeing calories as a horde of enemies which can only be dealt with one at a time. She is
one of those perpetually skinny women who look 45 when they are 30 and stay looking
the same til they die. On a not-unconnected note, she is also the office hypochondriac.

Harry fumbles for coffee, glancing self-consciously in Sally's direction. He makes as

much noise as he can, hoping to get her attention without the hassle of actually engaging
her in conversation.

Task finished and still ignored by Sally, Harry takes a seat nearby and sighs theatrically.
Then shifts his eyes once more to the corner.

Nothing.

Harry pinches his forehead again and scuffs his feet under him.

HARRY
Ah god...

A beat

Nothing.

Resigned to verbal and social suicide, Harry stands and moves towards Sally's secluded
corner.

Even with her back turned, Sally seems to shrink into the chair, as though trying to make
herself invisible.

Harry clears his throat.

Sally's tea-spoon dips to snag another amoeba-sized dollop of yogurt.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Hey Sally, how's things?
Sally stops and, with infinite slowness, places the teaspoon on the table, ensuring it rests
at a perfect parallel to the yogurt through a series of minute and fidgety gestures.

Then she sighs, beyond theatrically - operatically, making her whole slight body the
bellows of an enormous action, a profound statement on the unfairness of her place in the
universe.

SALLY
I'm on break.

Her words are both statement and condemnation, made ineffably clear by the slow and
deliberate way she folds her arms. Sally's lean frame has always had a better, and
considerably fouler, way with words than her.

Right now its saying: LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

HARRY
K. Was just wondering... how you were...

Harry rolls his eyes, the words sounded even worse outside of his head. He steps slightly
to the right, nearer to Sally's field of vision.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Well, what I meant was, weren't you complaining...

He hesitates and revises.

HARRY (CONT'D)
I mean saying, that you had a bad headache for the
last few days. That you were going for tests or
something...?

Sally shudders perceptibly. Harry now stands over her, slightly to one side.

Sally's composure relaxes slightly. She raises her head and smiles. No doubt it seems
beatific in her mind but the contortion of her face, quite against its natural scowl, is more
frightening than friendly.

SALLY
(with the glee and gravitas of the
hypochondriac)
Yes, I have been feeling a little poorly of late. Its
my head, and my joints, and this ache in my sinus'
and...

Sally sniffs self-consciously, as though confirming that she is vaguely aware of the
location of the sinus, and Harry seizes his chance.
 HARRY
Yes, I'm sure its very uncomfortable. And you must
have some kind of... tablets.

Harry makes a gesture that takes in the room, the human condition, the universe.

HARRY (CONT'D)
You know, for the pain...

Sally stops mid flow. Her cadaverous smile doesn't so much fade as invert, the creases of
her face reforming into its habitual scowl.

Sally's body language says: I FUCKING KNEW IT.

HARRY (CONT'D)
It's just, I've got a bit of a headache myself today,
just came on all of a sudden.

Harry raises a hand to his forehead, hoping it is in the right place. As though pain, real or
otherwise, had to be expressed as some kind of arcane Freemasons-like gesture in order
to invoke pity.

Sally snorts in uber-disgust and shuffles slightly in her seat. From between her clenched
skeletal knees comes the glorious sound of a cornucopia of foil-wrapped chemical
goodness.

She heaves the sack onto the table and, rolling up one sleeve, dives in.

Her fingers, sensitive to the texture of countless uppers, downers, placebos and pill-
shaped-escape move deftly. A flick of her malnourished wrist and a shiny, unmarked
present lies waiting for Harry on the table.

HARRY (CONT'D)
I... thanks Sally. I appreciate it. Are they... how
many do I or...?

This meeting is over.

Sally turns her back and resumes Operation-tiny-bites-of-yogurt with fierce

determination.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Well, thanks again.

Sally's back says: FUCK OFF AND DIE.

FADE TO BLACK.

FADE IN:
INT. OFFICE DAY - LATER

Harry sits at his desk with his head in his hands. He kneads his temples, searching for a
pressure point which will relieve his pain or, almost as appealingly, send him into blissful
unconsciousness.

A FLASH

A frame of bright white. A shadowy figure lurks in one corner, the black stark against the
white. It takes a step forward and reaches out its hand.

FLASH FRAME

Suddenly, a hand appears and grips Harry by the shoulder. He jumps and winces and the
pain floods back, like a river bursting the banks of his brain and flowing down his optic
nerve before encircling his eyeballs in aggressive palpating waves.

HARRY
Jesus...

PAUL JAMES (O.S.)

Oh... sorry Harry.

Paul's unmistakable, slow drawl shoots into Harry's right ear and careens around inside
the caverns of his head in a series of shrieking echoes.

PAUL JAMES (CONT'D)

Something... wrong...

Harry straightens and worms his way out of Paul's invasive grip. He squints up at the
larger man. Harry's starting to see halos and it certainly isn't because Paul is an angel.

HARRY
Hi Paul. No, well yea, I've got the beginnings of...

A phone makes a shrilling noise from a nearby desk. Harry shrinks in his seat as though
wanting to fold into a foetal ball and just barely stops himself.

HARRY (CONT'D)
No, not the beginning. I think I'm headed for a full-
blown migraine.

Paul looks momentarily uncomprehending, as though such ailments as migraines

belonged only to a lesser form of mankind, or perhaps a different species. Then, in the
oft-delayed understanding of all inherited rich-kids he smiles in a learned-from-watching-
Oprah facsimile of condescending concern.

PAUL JAMES
Right... well... sorry to, um, hear that..

Paul wasn't sorry.

He continued in his halting fashion, the gaps between words so long you wonder if he's
managed to expire between syllables.

PAUL JAMES (CONT'D)

Hmmm... so have you got the presentation, um,
finished... to your usual...

Paul fishes in the air with one hand as though searching for an elusive concept.

PAUL JAMES (CONT'D)

... high standard?

Only Paul could find making a compliment so difficult.

Harry's pain-addled brain flashes on the presentation, one of a dozen tasks in Paul's e-
mail. He surreptitiously angles his empty monitor away from Paul's field of vision in a
series of minor physical tics.

HARRY
Eh, I'm sorry Paul no I haven't been able to finish it
yet. You know because of the...

Harry points to his head as some sort of all-encompassing answer.

Paul's expression manages to fold into a curious mixture of disappointment and

foreknowledge. He pats Harry's shoulder in a condescending way.

PAUL JAMES
Ah, well its rather, hmmm, important. Perhaps you
could come in... early tomorrow...

Paul's tone makes it clear. It is not a question. Harry WILL come in at 6 a.m. If necessary.
He WILL complete the assignment on time or he WILL not have a job.

HARRY
Yes Paul, I'll leave right away and I'll be in as early
as I can tomorrow.

Then Harry adds what we all do when we've been told to do something by our boss and
don't know what else to say.
 HARRY (CONT'D)
Thank you.

Harry winces as much at the platitude as the pain in the head and begins to collect his
things. As Paul turns away, already muttering to himself - preparing his next minute
interaction with lesser form of life - the pain in Harry's head reaches a crescendo.

A flash

The blinding white light and the figure. The images lurches and it stands closer, overlaid
onto the real world.

Flash frame

Harry staggers and almost falls, his strain beneath the notice of Paul and beyond that of
his coworkers. Grabbing his briefcase, Harry almost runs from the office.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. HARRYS APARTMENT - THAT NIGHT

A single studio room, dark now. Harry lies in a single bed in one corner. His headache has
eased dramatically and he is exhausted. He closes his eyes and dreams.

Harry's dream is dark and muddled. Paul mutters incoherently while Sally, in the
background, shakes packaged pills like maracas. A TV sends out a machine-gun fusillade
of sound and images while a fluorescent light sparks and hisses, plunging the space
intermittently into darkness.

And in the centre stands Harry, staring into space. His face is vacant, his eyes gleaming
and brimming over with tears. The light fails completely for a moment and as they come
back up, Harry's eyelids start to droop.

He is incredibly tired, he wants to close his eyes and sleep. His focus wavers and his
pupils drift, preparing for sleep.

The lights start to dim again as Harry passes the point of no return. His lids close and, just
as the lights go out, a dark, silhouetted figure snaps into being behind him and clutches
his shoulder.

CUT TO:

INT. HARRYS APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Harry surges awake, a wordless exhalation the only sound he can make. His heart is
racing and his face glistens with tears in the pre-dawn light.

He will not sleep again tonight.

INT. PRESENTATION ROOM - MORNING

The door opens and Harry races in. He busies himself with the minutia of getting the
room ready: distributing copies of the presentation, setting up the laptop and projector,
etc.

He collapses into a seat, dishevelled and tired, and glances at his watch. He sighs.

Immediately, the door opens and a dozen staff pile in with all the enthusiasm which can
be mustered at half-nine on a Friday morning.

Paul enters last and nods somberly in Harry's direction. Harry returns the nod and winces
as the dredges of the migraine begin to stir once more.

Paul stands at the head of the room and raises his arms, palms spread, in what he assumes
to be a commanding way.

PAUL JAMES
(with uncalled-for gravitas)
Ladies and gentlemen, good morning and welcome
to our initial meeting to prepare for next weeks
quarterly report. As you can see...

Paul's performance drones off into background noise due to a combination of Harry
already knowing the presentation by heart and the intense pain emanating from a point
directly behind his eyeballs.

Harry forces his head up in a token display of interest. Paul has positioned himself
between Harry and the projector, no doubt impressed by the size of his own shadow on
the screen.
The dazzling light from the projector turns Paul into an overweight, animated silhouette.
His movements create a stroboscopic effect - each spray of light spearing into Harry's
brain. He blinks constantly, trying to clear the after-images.

As Harry watches the pain in his head increases and the dark image of Paul seems to shift
and change. Sometimes the figure is large, sometimes thin and, as the light continues to
flash, it emerges as two figures at the end of the long room.

A dozen people half-listen to Paul while Harry sits apart, peering into the light and
shadow. He blinks and in the flash the two dark figures are in sharp relief. The thin shape
stands tall and cadaverous behind Paul.

Harry blinks again. The shape has moved closer.

Harry looks around at the others in the room, at their bored faces, pens taking notes or
doodling, and at Paul. He drones on and they pretend to listen, all oblivious.

Harry blinks. A glimpse of the shape, right behind Paul now it raises one arm, hand
outstretched.

Harry rears up from his seat, painted in the wash of colours from the projector. The seat
falls, all eyes turn to him.

Paul looks at Harry and as Harry looks back he blinks.

A flash.

The figure moves again and a spectral hand comes down on Paul's shoulder. The image
passes in an instant. Harry takes a step forward and makes an involuntary noise.

HARRY
Jesus Christ, no...

As Harry's colleagues look at him again quizzically a strangled exhalation comes from
the front of the room.

Paul stands stiffly at the head of the table, one hand on his chest. His face, screwed up
with confusion, suddenly relaxes and he falls backwards in SLOW MOTION.

Everyone else rushes towards Paul. Harry backs away, glancing nervously around the
room.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Christ.

He blinks. Above the press of people around Paul, the figure raises its head sharply. It
looks at Harry. He starts backwards, trips over his fallen chair and goes sprawling.
Breathing heavily, blinking involuntarily. He looks in every direction, scuttling
backwards towards the door.

Harry blinks. Nothing.

Crawling backwards he runs out of room, his back to the door.

Harry blinks again. Nothing.

His breathing begins to ease, one hand reaching for the door handle to pull himself up.

A beat. A deep breath in and out.

Harry blinks and the thing is there. Right in front of him, expressing curiousity in the
blank blackness of its face.

Harry screams, rises and runs out the door into the main office.

CUT TO:

INT OFFICE - DAY

Harry streaks past unoccupied cubicles, barely slowing as he passes Sally's. He scoops up
her voluminous handbag and runs even faster.

Sally glances myopically up from her computer then springs to her feet. Her screams
drown out her body-language.

SALLY
Hey, what the FUCK are you doing?!

But Harry is gone. A door slams in the distance and then there is silence.

FADE TO BLACK.

FADE IN:

INT. ROOM-NIGHT

Harry sits in the chair, his many attempts to stay awake strewn around him.

The TV blares.

The Music roars.

The lights blind.

The pills are gone.

And, in spite of himself, Harry closes his eyes.

CLOSE ON AND SLOW MOTION:

Harry's weary eyes closing.

FADE TO BLACK.

A FLASH:

A blinding flash frame, then a shadowy figure careens forward, closer and closer.

THE END